Apologies
by Melon Fuhrer
Summary: Riza lets an injured General Mustang into her home, and eventually, he lets her into his heart. Set between the end of the first anime and the Conqueror of Shamballa.


**DISCLAIMER: **Fullmetal belongs to Arakawa.

**A/N:** This is long overdue... I've been meaning to write my take on what happened between Roy and Riza between 03 and Shamballa basically since I saw the movie over six months ago. I had originally just assumed they got together at the end of '03, but after I saw the movie, I wasn't so sure that they _ever_ did. After thinking over it for a long while, I came to several headcanons, which have turned into a fic. I'm not 100% happy with it but I've been working on it for a ridiculously long time so I figured I might as well post it and see what feedback I get. I'm most likely going to add on to it in another chapter, and I might even go back and tweak this part later. I don't know. I'll stop rambling.

* * *

Blood pounded against her eardrums, her heart hammering against her sternum and threatening to yank itself out of place. The wound in her arm should have been searing hot and causing her extreme pain, but for the life of her she couldn't even seem to register that she'd been hit. Her thoughts weren't strung together, but they were more of a jumble of panicked emotions and the random cohesive word like _General_ and _gun_ and _dead _and_** please**_.

The bullet was in Archer's skull and she ran. Her vision swam and she could just make out two figures and red - lots and lots and lots of red. Two seconds were all she needed to verify that the child was dead, and then everything was the General. Everything was _Roy_. Bleeding, not moving, bleeding, bleeding, bleeding Roy, barely breathing, Roy.

General Mustang's body was colder than it should have been when she fell upon it. Surely the Flame Alchemist should have been warm? He'd lost so much blood, so much warmth; he was fading, like someone slowly dousing a fire. It took her too long to realize that as long as he was alive there was hope and she needed to _do_ something and not just let him bleed out all over the Furher's front porch. The Lieutenant scooped him up into her arms, trying her best not to jostle him or aggravate his wound. When her eyes fell on his face, she had to bite back a scream.

His left eye socket was empty, save for the blood pouring from it.

She would remember the distance between the Fuhrer's mansion and the car as a blur - a marathon, with Roy a dead weight in her arms, but a blur nonetheless. Adrenaline spiked the blood in her veins and everything was moving too quickly yet not quickly enough. How she got them to the hospital without wrapping them around a light post she'll never know, but she'll always be thankful.

The hospital was bright and she was surrounded by masks and someone took Roy from her, strapping him down and wheeling him off where she couldn't see hi, where she couldn't protect him. Not that she'd done a spectacular job of that anyway.

Riza was confused when they ushered her into her own room, not remembering her own wound. She slowly realized she was dizzy, what with the blood loss from her arm and the panic of Roy's brush with death having taken a heavy toll on her. Before she could even halfway process what was being done to her, there was a needle in her good arm and she was asleep.

* * *

The first three days while he was in the hospital were the worst days of Riza's life.

She'd been discharged after the first day, with the doctor's order that she rest and eat plenty of healthy food to regain her strength from the blood she'd lost; the wound in and of itself hadn't been nearly as bad as it had looked.

Roy, on the other hand, wasn't holding up.

The rest of Mustang's team had come to visit, and they'd been in the room when Dr. Peters, the surgeon overseeing the operation on Roy's chest, had given the news. Riza had promptly soaked Havoc's shirt with tears.

General Mustang might not survive.

#

His condition was unstable, they said. He wasn't allowed visitors, and there was a doctor or several in the room with him at nearly every given moment. Still, Riza never left the hospital. One or two of the guys had stayed with her, rotating on and off. None of them said a word to her about going home and resting; they knew her much too well for that. She might not have said as much, but she was sure the guilt was rolling off of her in waves on top of the stress and the worry. They knew she wouldn't leave him for anything now.

#

Roy didn't wake up for over a week. The Fuhrer had stabbed him dangerously close to his heart, and after only the first hour the doctors had given up all hope of him ever being able to use his left eye again. Riza was simply grateful the bullet hadn't gone through his head. And at least now, they were almost sure he wasn't going to die.

#

Finally, they gave in. She guessed it had something to do with the fact that they saw her constant arguing with them as wearing on her own recuperating condition, and that they'd decided it was best to let her have her way. She didn't so much care about the reasoning, though. She was simply happy that she was allowed to see him.

Fuery, who had joined her for the day, politely excused himself to the latrine, sensing that she wanted a minute alone with him. She spared him a grateful smile before half-dashing into the room, pulling back the curtains to find her superior in a sadder state than she'd ever thought possible.

Thick white gauze was wrapped around his head, slanted to the side to cover his missing eye and let him use his remaining one. His torso was bare, save for the bandages that held pressure to his wounded heart. He was hooked up to an IV drip, and even though he'd undergone blood transfusion, he was still extremely pale, with a dark circle under his black eye.

Roy peered sluggishly up at her, his eye clouded in exhaustion and pain medication. He stared for a painfully long moment before his lips twitched, muttering, "Hawk..."

Riza closed the distance between herself and his bed, taking the seat beside him. She felt a fleeting urge to take his hand, but she ignored it. "How are you feeling, sir?" she managed, steeling her voice. She couldn't choke up right now; the last thing Roy needed was his failure of a subordinate getting overemotional on him.

"Like hell," he whispered, his eye closing. His breathing slowed, and she knew he'd fallen asleep. She bit her lip, allowing her fingers to stroke his cold arm softly.

"Everything's going to be all right."

She couldn't convince herself that she was talking to him.

* * *

They were going to break all the rules in the book.

Well, technically, assassinating the Fuhrer basically threw the book off the table completely, but now they were just being thorough.

Strangely enough, their request was approved, strictly due to the extenuating circumstances. Because normally, due to the anti-fraternization laws, there was no way the military would let an officer share quarters with his subordinate for any amount of time. Roy's lack of family or close friends able to care for him left Riza the only one willing to take up that mantle. General Mustang couldn't afford another three months in the hospital, even on his generous salary.

So she took him in. She was told it would be three months minimum, though she had a feeling that, knowing the General, he'd insist on two or less. He wasn't one to lie around in bed and let the world spin on without him.

He was lighter than she remembered him being; she supposed that living on fluids for two weeks with minimal solid foods had something to do with that. Nevertheless, she was grateful that it was easier to support him from her car to the house than it had been to carry his blood-soaked body from Bradley's mansion. Roy hit her mattress with a bit of a thud, groaning and twisting slightly to take the weight off of his injured side. Riza quickly bent down beside him, helping him get situated under the blankets, propping him up on all the pillows she had.

As he got settled, Riza heard pattering steps behind her. She didn't get a chance to turn and prove to herself what she already knew it was; before she could move, Black Hayate had jumped up onto the bed, directly on top of Roy. The man yelped, weakly batting him away. Riza practically lunged at the dog.

"Down!" she yelled, holding him back and pushing him off onto the floor. "I'm so sorry, sir, he's so much more well-behaved than this-"

Roy waved her off, shaking his head as he calmed down. Black Hayate moved to rest his chin on Roy's arm, begging to be pet. The General smiled softly and acquiesced. "Don't worry about it, Hawkeye," he rasped, scratching behind the dog's ear. "I don't mind."

Riza sighed, watching the two for a long moment. "I suppose it's a good thing he likes you," she finally concluded. "You'll be here for a while."

* * *

Roy spent most of the day sleeping, as he'd done in the hospital, though since he was being weaned off the pain medication the bouts he spent awake usually entailed his face contorting and his breaths coming in quick pants to avoid sharp pains in his chest. Riza felt her heart constrict at every strained noise he made, practically waiting on him hand and foot to try to ease his discomfort in any way she could. By the time she needed to start dinner, she was already feeling wiped out.

She stood from her spot beside the bed, tapping the General's shoulder lightly. Whispering, she reassured she wouldn't be far if he needed anything, promising his first taste of real food in who knew how long. He offered only a tired smile in response.

It was almost amusing, watching him be spoonfed. Riza wasn't sure if his manly ego would take over once he started getting better and insist on taking care of himself, or if he'd take advantage of his condition and have her continue to feed him just because he thought he could get away with it. But right now, he was doing little more than watching her in a daze while she repeatedly pressed spoonfuls of soup to his slack lips. Riza sighed, hoping he'd start regaining some strength soon. Seeing her boss is such a sad state would get depressing after awhile, and it most certainly would do nothing to abate her guilt over his condition.

Fortunately (for both their sakes), Roy did start showing visible signs of improvement within the next few days. Roy was still very much bedridden, but he was staying awake for hours at a time and holding up conversation with Riza; his company in turn lifted her spirits, as she'd talked to no one but Black Hayate since she'd taken Roy home. Of course, she had to chalk up much of what he said to the medicine - he'd gone so far as to run his fingers through her hair while making a speech about the flaws of the world and how they made it beautiful. She'd had to resist rolling her eyes at that one, though his next forkful of apple was a little rougher going into his mouth than it needed to be. And if he noticed the slight blush on her cheeks, he said nothing.

* * *

It couldn't be put off any longer.

"Sir," Riza called as she reentered the room, having just finished cleaning up from lunch. "You stink."

Roy's dark eye widened and blinked once, uncomprehending. "Huh?"

Without missing a beat, she turned, opening the door to the adjoining bathroom and turning on the light. "You've been out of the hospital for a week," she continued. She plugged her bathtub and turned it on, sticking a few fingers into the stream of water to test the temperature. "And you haven't bathed since then. You're going to stink up my mattress."

The General's eyebrow furrowed in slight confusion. "I'm not supposed to be up and around, Lieutenant, like you keep reminding me."

Riza took a deep breath and left the bathroom, crossing the bedroom and pulling back Roy's covers slowly. "I know. I'm going to have to..." she looked away. She hated how nervous this was making her - it really shouldn't have been as big a deal as she was making it out to be internally. "I'm going to have to help you," she finally finished, glad her voice didn't crack the way it had threatened to. Without looking squarely at him, she slid her arm under his shoulder slowly, avoiding touching his injured chest. Riza wrapped a hand around his other side, taking the hand that was slung across her in her own. Roy leaned heavily on her and said nothing. They entered the bathroom and Riza sat him down on the ledge of the bathtub. He grasped her arms tightly for support as she leaned over to grab a bubble bath mix - a ridiculous gift she'd gotten from Rebecca for her last birthday but hadn't had the heart to throw out. Now, she was grateful she'd kept it.

Mustang eyed her as she dumped its contents into the water. "What's that for?" he asked.

"For the sake of your dignity, sir." Riza was suddenly glad she wasn't a nurse or doctor - how did they learn to desensitize themselves like this? It was sort of ironic, actually, that as a soldier, she could stomach rivers of blood and walls spattered in gore, but have her bathe her superior and she was intensely, acutely uncomfortable. She sighed, silently ordering herself to suck it up. It wasn't though she'd never seen a naked man before.

The General couldn't help but smirk at her. "It's not as though I've got anything to be ashamed of," he retorted, though she could hear the unease underneath the cocky tone in his voice. She figured he was trying to ease the tension with humor, something she might be grateful for if it had actually worked.

Rolling her eyes, she helped him undress, tossing his pajamas at the hamper tucked away in the corner. She let him take care of his underthings on his own and made sure to keep her eyes firmly averted. When he was done, she helped him lower himself into the bath, leaning over him to turn the water off. As she pulled back, something caught her eye: a long, jagged scar running down the length of his right shoulder. Without thinking about it, she trailed a finger down the warm skin of his back, not quite touching the puckered mark but close enough. "What happened here?" she asked.

He tensed slightly. "Ishval," he muttered, and Riza was wise enough not to press for details.

The next fifteen minutes were spent in silence, broken only by Riza receiving an appreciative murmur in the back of Roy's throat when she rubbed shampoo into his fine hair, giving his scalp a bit of a massage. It was tricky trying to wash around his wound, and she found she was terribly clumsy and would probably have to change his bandages when he got out. Somehow she managed to wash and rinse the whole of him (well, most of him anyway - there were lines) without hurting him, and for that she was glad. In the end, though, as she helped him stand, she couldn't wholly avoid seeing parts of her General she could have lived without. Her face went up in flames as she yanked a towel off the rack and nearly threw it over him, half-desperate to cover him.

Riza grabbed a second towel and together they dried him off. While Roy tied the first one around his waist, Riza looked up to meet his gaze and noticed that his eye patch was soaked. She swore under her breath; he couldn't let that get wet. "General," she said, reaching for it. He stiffened and before she could blink, he swatted her hand away, his face unreadable.

"Sir?"

Roy looked away, his grip on the towel tightening. "I can take care of that, Hawkeye, I... I don't want you to- to see that."

Her face fell. She hadn't realized that it bothered him. Granted, he'd been comatose for the better part of a month, but he'd never indicated that he felt insecure about the loss of his eye. Her hand fell, unintentionally landing on his chest. "I'm so sorry, sir," Riza murmured. "This is my fault - all of it. Your eye, your heart-"

"Didn't we go over this?" Roy demanded, his eye on her again. "I don't blame you, Hawkeye. You did the best you could."

"My best wasn't good enough, though," she replied softly.

"I'm alive, aren't I? You did your job. Hell, you're doing more than I'd ever ask of you." He smiled down at her for a moment before his face contorted in pain, swaying forward. Riza managed to catch him before he toppled to the ground. When he was righted again, he let out a breathy chuckle. "I guess that probably didn't make you any feel better," he panted.

Hawkeye shook her head. "Let's get you dressed and back in bed, sir. I don't think either of us want to take another trip to the hospital to stitch you back up."

#

Riza woke to the sound of a heavy_ thud_.

She unwittingly kicked Hayate off the couch - she'd have to remember to be more strict about him being on the furniture, but that wasn't really important right now - getting to her feet. The noise had come from her room, where the General was. Her heart rate spiked and she ran without a second thought.

Mustang was lying in a heap of blankets on the floor, his back to her. She was at his side in an instant, rolling him over and taking his face in her hands. "Sir? Are you all right?" she asked, her voice strained with worry. When his only response was a groan, she untangled him from the covers, unbuttoning his shirt. The fabric was practically yanked to the side as her eyes raked over the white gauze that was wrapped around his torso. She felt herself pale a little when she saw red beginning to seep through it.

"Fuck," she whispered. It looked like they weren't going to be able to avoid the hospital again.

#

One hospital visit, twenty-plus stitches, and a drugged-up Roy later, Riza was moving her blankets back onto her bed, and gently moved Roy towards the wall. He blinked up at her blearily, obviously upset at being moved. "Wha..." he mumbled.

"Do you want to take any more trips to the emergency room?" she asked, her tone demanding. Riza had lost quite a bit of sleep over this, and she was getting irritable. When he tiredly shook his head, she replied, "Then just trust me."

Apparently satisfied, he closed his eyes, on the brink of sleep already. Riza turned, flicking the switch off on the lamp, and lay down beside him, pulling the covers up to her chin. Like the man beside her, she was asleep within minutes.

When she opened her eyes again, sunlight was pouring through the window. Riza frowned; she didn't have an idea of what time it was exactly, but she knew it was later than she would have liked. She sat up, stretching, and her eyes fell to Roy, who was still soundly sleeping. Her hand moved seemingly on its own, brushing hair out of his eyes. Riza stared longer than was probably prudent, but for whatever reason she didn't feel particularly inclined to stop.

Hawkeye was an aptly named woman - she most certainly was not blind. She had been aware from day one that her boss was an attractive man, an attribute he had no problem flaunting. Over time he'd proven himself to her as someone worth her protection, someone worth the seat he desired. He'd had a paternal side dragged out of him when he found Elric brothers. But in just this short time he'd spent in her home, she found that she was learning about a facet of him she'd never considered - Roy Mustang the man, not the solider or commander, but simply as a man brought to his knees.

A wave of guilt swept over her. He'd told her not to blame herself (and his tone had been much softer than she'd thought he was capable of) for his condition, but mere words couldn't lift her burden so easily. She had yet to view that night in an angle that cast the blame on anyone but herself. As his bodyguard, the one person to whom he'd entrusted his being, she had failed him.

She closed her eyes and her hand strayed from where it had been on his forehead down to his shoulder. She didn't get the chance to wallow for very long before Roy moved, his eye fluttering open. Almost unconsciously, his hand moved up to cover her own. He flashed her a groggy smile, his eye lingering on her. "Morning," he mumbled.

Riza's thumb received no permission to stroke his hand the way it did. "I think it's a little past morning, sir," she replied, lifting her gaze to the window. "We didn't get home until half past four am."

"Sorry."

Blinking, her eyes met his again. "What for?"

"For scaring you," he said after clearing his throat. Roy shifted, apparently trying to sit up, only to wince and grab his side in pain. Riza didn't know if it should worry her how much of an automatic it was for her arms to wind themselves around his body, trying to ease his pain and letting him lean on her. She let go of him as he fell back against the pillows that she had propped up for him, and he smiled gratefully at her.

"I still don't quite understand how you managed to fall out of bed," Riza said. "You can hardly even move on your own."

Roy's face darkened for half an instant, though he schooled his features almost quickly enough to hide it from her. "I still don't know why you decided to sleep with me," he quipped, though it was halfhearted. It wasn't hard to see past him, to see what he was doing, but Riza let it slide.

When she spoke, her voice was barely loud enough to be heard.

"To keep you safe, sir."

* * *

Hawkeye didn't pry. She had enough of her own problems, she reasoned, and she figured he was as loath to talk about his issues as she was to admit hers. Sometimes he seemed as though he was on the brink of admitting something - though what that might be she may never know, as he always caught himself at the last moment. Riza couldn't help but feel a flicker of disappointment each time despite herself.

The result, however, was that conversation between them had been reduced to awkward, stilted jabs at communication. Riza quickly gave up trying, letting Roy stew over whatever he was keeping to himself. She knew she'd brushed on a tender topic with him somehow, and that only made her feel worse.

The cloud that had settled over them lifted at a visit from Havoc and Fuery. They'd brought with them some of Roy's clothes from his apartment; Riza hadn't been able to leave the General long enough to get them herself. Roy was grateful for the change of pajamas, but Riza realized he also probably appreciated seeing a face besides her own. She was aware that she didn't exactly supply great company.

When they left, Havoc clapping her on the back on his way out and Fuery somewhat awkwardly attempting a hug, Riza stood, moving to leave the room. Roy's voice stopped her.

"Where are you going?"

She stiffened. "Do you need me to stay?"

With no response forthcoming, Riza again tried to leave, only to be interrupted by Roy once more.

"Will you come sit? Please?" he added as an afterthought. It was a new concept, not to be giving her orders but to actually have to use some semblance of manners. "I want to talk to you."

With a barely-suppressed sigh, Riza did as he asked, resuming her spot on the chair she'd claimed weeks ago by the bed. "What did you need to talk to me about, sir?"

"I didn't say I_ needed_ to talk to you, Hawkeye, I said I _wanted_ to. What's the matter?" he asked, his gaze searching her face.

She didn't miss a beat. "I could ask you the same thing, sir." Looking away, she added, "But I wouldn't make you answer that. It's your business, not mine," Riza said quietly.

"You never talk," Roy said suddenly. "You're always so damn quiet. I can't figure out how I pissed you off to the point where you stopped talking to me, but if you'd just tell me so I can apologize, I would really appreciate it."

Riza blinked, staring at him uncomprehendingly for a long, stifled moment. "You think I'm _mad_ at you?" she finally managed. "How on earth did you arrive at that conclusion, sir?"

He shifted uncomfortably. "You seemed kinda pissed about having to take me to the hospital again last week. That was when you stopped talking to me," Roy told her. "Sorry."

Her reaction was almost a flinch. "You have nothing to be sorry for, sir. I'm not angry with you; I'm sorry if I gave you that impression. I've been trying to leave you alone so you can sort out whatever it is you're going through since it seemed like you needed some space. Forgive me if I was mistaken."

"Why do you do that? You don't need to apologize. I'm not berating you, Hawkeye. You could barely even consider me your boss right now, as long as I'm eating your food and taking up half your bed. I just... I just don't want you to feel put out by all this. It's not your fault I went and got my dumb ass stabbed and shot, and it's not your job to clean up the mess." His dark eye bore a hole in her. "Are we... do you consider us friends?" he asked, slightly hesitant.

She had no idea where the question came from, but she responded as honestly as she could. "If you want us to be."

"No, fuck what _I_ want, I asked you what you think," he snapped. At her silence, he continued, "Are you really so willing to put your life on hold for a man you can't even call your friend?" Roy's voice was nearly a whisper.

Riza didn't answer right away. Was he her friend? She wasn't sure. She didn't doubt that she cared about him. But he was so walled off, so distant, it was hard to know where she stood with him.

Of course, there was that small, quiet voice that insisted on reminding her of her inappropriate attraction to what she did know of him, of her wish to be _mor_e than friends with him, but it was silenced the instant it reared its ugly head.

Eventually she murmured, "If you need a friend, sir, I'm here for you. I can promise you that much."

#

It was another week before he worked up the courage to get it off his chest.

Riza pretended not to notice the rain.

* * *

As she had predicted, he was up and out of bed several days before he was supposed to be. Riza could hardly blame him, though. Her bedroom didn't exactly have the greatest view of the city, not that there was much to see anyway. Her mattress was lumpy, and the room had begun to stink like dog from the excessive attention Roy gave Black Hayate. They both needed fresh air.

The dog came with them, of course. He and Roy adored each other.

With no small amount of trepidation, Riza led them out the door, Roy leaning heavily on his cane, Black Hayate on a leash more for the sake of propriety than actual necessity (she had no fears of him running off, but people tended to be more at ease when strange animals were restrained). After only half a block, Riza made the General stop, feeling the pain and discomfort radiating from him even though he refused to complain.

"This is humiliating," he whined when Riza slung his arm across her shoulders, though he let his weight fall against her. "I'm a grown man."

"Oh, hush," she retorted, a small smile on her lips. In a more serious tone, she added, "There's nothing childish about letting people who care about you help you."

After a long moment of silence as they made their way down the street, Roy wordessly gave her shoulders a gentle squeeze.

#

Their walks became some sort of routine once Riza realized their benefit. Roy had started to pale from being cooped up for so long, and the sun was doing him wonders. And ever since he had finally told her about his nightmares, Riza had noticed that there was an almost literal weight lifted off his back, letting him breathe easier.

She'd had no idea he felt guilty for what happened to the Elric brothers - Alphonse in his flesh body with no recollection of the last four years; Edward disappeared, presumed dead. She still didn't quite understand how Roy could possibly find a way to place the blame on himself, but she knew better than to tell him not to feel it. Riza understood guilt. She understood that there was no magic wand that could wave it off, misplaced or not.

There were some battles you had to see through to the end.

* * *

"Sir, you're not supposed to be off your cane yet," Riza scolded. "You need to stop pushing your limits, you won't recover fully if you keep this up."

He was standing at her kitchen counter, chopping up carrots for dinner. Riza noticed with a grin that he'd even gone so far as to put on the only apron she kept in the house - a frilly, pink circus tent given to her by some friend of a friend many Christmases ago. He looked ridiculous, but the smile on his face was genuine.

A hand waved arbitrarily through the air. "Yeah, yeah," he replied noncommittally. "I hope you didn't have plans tonight. I'm cooking."

"I can see that," Riza responded warily. "May I ask why? I don't know if this is the best idea."

Setting down the knife, Roy faced her, smile fading a little. "I just wanted to say thanks, I guess. I know it doesn't really help you much, but..." he trailed off, scratching his head. He shrugged, returning to the vegetables. "And despite what you may think," he continued after clearing his throat, "I'm not completely useless in the kitchen. So don't worry."

She hovered, of course - like she would leave him alone with knives and a hot oven without interrupting occasionally to nag at him. He took it in good stride, lightly shrugging her off and actually managing to listen to one or two of her suggestions. Eventually, though, he got a little huffy.

"Everything's fine, Riza, the point of this is for you to not have to worry for once," he told her, slightly exasperated. He turned to face her from where he stood at the stove. "Go rela-" Roy stopped, his face suddenly contorting in pain. He gripped his torso, knuckles white.

"Sir!" Riza half-shouted. She flew out of her seat, her arms automatically throwing themselves out to support him. "Sir, are you all right?"

Sucking a breath in through his teeth, he managed, "Yeah. Fine."

Her hand moved to cradle his face, seemingly of its own accord. "Are you sure?"

It took him a few moments, but gradually the lines in his face faded and he relaxed. Slowly he opened his eye. "I'm sure."

Riza blushed and looked down, suddenly intensely aware of the situation they had worked themselves into. She had one hand on his arm, and the other was on his soft, slightly stubbly cheek, and his face was much too close to her own, and his eye was glued to her. She didn't have to look up to know that; she could feel his gaze as solidly as she could feel the softness of his flesh under her hands. With a great amount of trepidation, her eyes slowly shifted up to meet his. When their gazes locked, her breath caught in her lungs. There was a warmth in his eyes she hadn't seen since... since before this mess had begun. She opened her mouth - to do what, she didn't know, but she had to break the moment before he-

-did_ that_.

If she'd been frozen before, the slight pressure of his lips against hers turned her to a pillar of salt.

But before she could think enough to react, he'd pulled away, his eyes as wide as hers.

"Dammit, I-I'm sorry, I-" Roy stammered, panic-stricken. Flustered, he ducked his head and brushed past her, fleeing the kitchen, the soup forgotten.

#

When she brought him dinner that night - little more than chunks of chicken and carrots floating in oversalted broth - the tension between them was almost palpable. He wouldn't meet her eye, and she was too much of a coward to make him.

He was quite well enough to feed himself at this point, and so Riza left the bowl on the nightstand beside him, turning for the door again even before she'd finished the action. But something made her stop.

They were adults, Hawkeye reminded herself. They weren't going to run away from this.

She turned to face him again, meeting his eye. His face was tinged pink; he looked away, not bothering to reach for the food she'd brought him. Roy held his ground as she sat down on the bed, still not looking at her.

"Sir."

Silence.

"We need to talk."

"I told you I was sorry," he mumbled.

"You're behaving like a child."

Roy groaned and threw his hands up, suddenly exasperated. "What do you want me to fucking say, Riza? That I wish I hadn't done what I did? That it didn't mean anything to me? Well I can't, not unless you want me to lie to you."

Riza blanched. "Sir?"

"You heard me."

She cleared her throat, her eyes remaining on his through sheer force of will alone. "Do you mean that?" she asked carefully.

"Of course I do," was his automatic response. "Do you really think I'd work up the gall to tell you that if it wasn't even true? Do you think I'd have the nerve to _lie_ to you, after everything you've done for me?"

Riza's face felt hot; that wasn't what she had been insinuating at all. She looked down at her hands. "No, sir, I know you're not in the habit of lying. I merely wanted to know if you were sure, if you were positive that that's how you feel."

She felt his warm thumb brush over the back of her hand. Stunned into silence, she let him twine his fingers with hers, staring at their hands dumbly. "Of course I do," Roy repeated, his voice softer now. "How could I not?"

Riza didn't respond; her heart was racing, thoughts too scrambled to form a coherent sentence. At her silence, Roy sighed, releasing her hand. "I don't want you to feel uncomfortable. If you don't feel the same way, I understand," he muttered, his tone somewhat bitter. This made Riza tilt her head up to look at him. Did he honestly believe that was what was passing through her head? "I'm sorry I ki-" Roy started, but Riza cut him off.

His lips were warmer than she recalled, likely from the excessive heat his blushing had caused. Riza managed to close her eyes this time around, wanting to savor it.

"I think we've both heard enough apologies to last us a while," she whispered when she pulled away. After a long moment of shocked silence, Roy grinned.

* * *

**A/N: **So how much did it derail during the last half? Be honest with me. (This is why I shouldn't write over long periods of time blegh)


End file.
